Under Enemy Hands
by Farts
Summary: Trapped in an Imperial camp, Ulfric Stormcloak and co. are under the mercy of bloodthirsty Imperial soldiers. Enraged by the sight of a Stormcloak woman being abused, a bound Ulfric unknowingly exchanges her fate for one night. Tags: Slash,rape,noncon first featured in the Skyrim Kinkmeme
1. Imperial Bastards

it had been a solid day of being carted like pigs for slaughter by Imperial horsemen, a long and defeated trail to an encampment by the red-coated enemy with tired rebels and their leader in tow. It had been an even longer night, a second day of starvation as the Stormcloaks suffered being bound tight and lined up outside, their leader gagged tight until the skin at his covered cheeks turned red and unable to communicate with his loyal followers.

Humiliated by their capture he watched the winter sun begin to lower, the creeping chill of the night followed by the enticing smell of meat roasting over the fire downhill and the sting of freshly uncorked mead. The company in blue knew they'd need quick thinking- or a miracle, to escape without an arrow through the heart. The Jarl of Windhelm wasn't one to believe in miracles yet his firm faith in Talos helped him find the courage that he'd find himself at his throne once again.

It wasn't until after the Imperials had their fill that it was once again time to humiliate them one by one, laughing at their positions, tied seated to wooden poles with dirt kicked in their faces. Ulfric couldn't reason with them, relent- until he saw something he knew would happen. Their youngest captive, a young woman who'd not even had her first child, was pulled away from her post and was beginning to be tossed from man to man. Her aggressive shouts turned to gasps of terror, long blonde hair pulled and rough hands on her legs and thighs.

"MMMH!" was the first noise to come from Ulfric, fury in his eyes, his boots scraping into the dirt and his bonds struggled against, the men falling silent and attention turned away from the young girl who now had a hand at her throat and down her armor. Several laughs exchanged between the younger men, a boot kicking gravel towards the Jarl who glared daggers at her attacker. He wasn't being brave, being the hero, but seeing firsthand what could have been the last moments of this young woman's life (who gave hers to Ulfric's cause) was something he could not let stand.

"So, no struggling from the future High King until we have a little fun with your Stormcloak wench?" one said. Ulfric's blood boiled.

They threw her before him, just out of his reach, she looked him in the eyes and held strong but the fear was so easily seen... Ulfric snarled again, his chest puffed out in a defiant attempt to escape his bonds.

"Don't like that? Can't stand the sight of what becomes of your women when they're out fighting your wars for you?" If looks could kill-

"Keep her" one suddenly spoke up, kicking the woman in the gut before dragging her by a thin ankle back towards her post. "Maybe we'll just mess up that pretty face of yours, instead?" The large soldier grabbed Ulfric's bearded chin, who wanted to spit in the mans face, unafraid of the threat of beatings. He'd been tortured before, he can take the pain if it meant not being forced to watch such a faithful young woman be raped in front of his eyes.

Soon enough Ulfric was on the ground, four sickly playful men dragging his tall, built frame into the dirt before his rebel soldiers. Ulfric was kicked, tugged, his bound hands trying to beat off the Nords and it took all of their manpower just to keep him on the ground. The Stormcloaks called them cowards, fools, watching in vain as their powerful leader thrashed until two grabbed at his long blonde hair. They pulled him by his head towards a large tent, his strong legs kicking, heels digging into the dirt by a laughing crowd until the now 6 where inside, the doorway drawn shut.

The Jarl knew, as he was thrown down to his knees and looking up at 5 pairs of eyes, that he was in for a lot of pain. His eyes where hard, his lips taught behind the gag and he was barraged by insults- the worst in particular was just to have the sinister-looking eyes of a Thalmor man on him. To be on his knees as a victim in front of a damn Altmer, and then suddenly, to have the fists and hands of 4 angry men at his body- this is not how it was meant to be. Ulfric remained resilient, his brows drawn down and his chest tight as he took it like a strong Nord man should.

But then, thing's changed.

He felt his expensive wolfskin coat pulled off his body, cut at the arms and freed from his body entirely, and then the straps at his body holding the cloth to his skin. Ulfric let out a loud muffled roar, legs kicking wildly at the faces of the men who began to pull down his pants "What are you doing?" he could only think, his hair pulled taught until his head hit the ground, the cloth cut from his body and his legs held down by two men. It kept them all to hold just this one man down, Ulfric's head twisting and ravenous growls pushing from his throat as he felt a pair of hands at his thighs, fiddling with the strings of his undergarments.

A calloused hand at his throat could feel the Jarl's heart quickening, sweat building at his skin from his struggle and the sudden idea that this may lead to more than just torture. He was humiliated, writhing as a sick guard pulled at his boots, grabbed at his bare feet and spread his legs. There was a hand at his crotch, leather against his sensitive balls before the cloth was ripped from his body with a loud shout of dismay _"-OFF!_" could be understood behind the gag.

The men stared at him with the same intensity, with the same roughness of their hands at his body, as they did to the Stormcloak girl. Ulfric just didn't realize until he was nude before them that he'd just traded off that girls fate.

Soon he was eying a mage with a wicked grin placing bare, searing hot hands on his inner thighs. Ulfric's back arches sharply, legs thrashing as a brief flash of firelight makes searing pain shoot up his body. His muffled cry went unheard, his sensitive flesh flushed pink and the pale hairs vanish- If this was a time to begin to fear for his life, it was now, for there is no pain worse than fire. By the 9, where they going to burn him alive? The Altmer mage's accursed palms repeated the process across his bare hip bones until the abused man's body went rigid, strong hands leaving bruises along his firm arms.

Then he heard those names again, spoken from the tongues of brutish men and vile mer. Names that dishonored the Jarl to the likes of a mere beast, a traitorous bastard that hid a beautiful body underneath expensive clothing, hid the fact that such a body could feel pain just like any other. Words meant nothing, and Ulfric wished nothing more than to shout them apart with his king-killing voice, a voice that these Imperials would soon make him scream for mercy.

The nude man struggled with all of his might, his tight body thrashing and writhing as leather belts soon came with a snap down upon his stomach, across those pinked thighs until the welts shone with sweat. Ulfrics fingers became blue in a futile attempt to tear his bonds apart, arms pinned above his head and eyes forced to watch brave hands delve behind him for a firm grab of the globes of his ass. _"STOP!_" was easily heard, yet fully ignored as those leather clad gloves of an Imperial bastard rubbed uncomfortably within the cleft of his now-clenched ass, his hole roughly penetrated by a single digit.

_"STOOPP!_" Ulfric roared behind the tight gag, the obvious advances proving to the Jarl what may just be coming to him soon enough- he kicked his whipped legs, these animalistic muffled screams tore from his throat, thick veins creeping up his reddening throat.

That rough leather finger soon became two, digging into him from the now snickering guard, pumping in and out of him with a cruel pace that soon quickened as the Jarl's leg is forced up in the air.

"Make him bleed, Endil, easier going in that way!" One hopefully simply joked and soon enough Endil had succeeded, fresh crimson blood wetting those dirty gloves, stinging his ass that has not felt a cock since Ulfric's younger years.

Soon enough Ulfric was on his stomach, arms twisted painfully above him as those fingers became three, twisting, stabbing, torturing his virgin-tight hole until a sound tore from Ulfrics throat that sounded so akin to a whimper that the hardening soldiers surrounding him had their interests dangerously piqued. What an enticingly cruel thought- to be one of the few to claim the traitorous murderer of kings before his head is chopped from his body by General Tullius himself. Sex starved men soon longed for that right, to draw more of those delicious whimpers and cries from his deep voice until they turned into sobs shaking for mercy.

Ulfric's body suffered under those 3 sets of hands pinning him tight, fingers curling and hitting that spot inside him that made him blind, that spot that used to bring him so much pleasure yet now it weakened his legs. The guard called Endil wrenched his blood smeared, full ass in the air, Ulfrics soft cock dangling, green eyes peeking back to see the leather straps of the man's pants becoming undone. "Rot in the lowest pits of Oblivion!" He cried, laughed at while it only came out as a desperate plea behind fabric. The men that held him unashamedly watching the rapist at Ulfric's spread legs withdraw his rock-hard cock, eager and spurred by the other men (Who would soon enjoy the same luxury) It was with one agonizingly slow and steady push the now-growling man was fully penetrated, giving only a brief moment to feel the pain before he was quickly and steadily fucked by a man with no shame.

The seconds felt like torture, the minutes being raped, then suddenly bruised and beaten by the others while several others stood and watched him suffer, Ulfric's knees red and dirty, toes curled and fists clenched. Blood dripped down to his balls, the sound of wet slapping an arousing aphrodisiac to the eager men below who watched the man's pace quicken, his breath ragged behind his helmet. It felt like being stabbed, the pain refusing to numb and Ulfric hung his head against his arm, unable to move. "mmmMMH!" was heard behind him, the blonde soon copying it as hot, awful cum erupted inside him, salting his stinging wounds. Ulfric cursed in his mind, realizing all at once they had won, Imperial scum taking everything from him. He cursed ever leaving his palace, cursed what his life had become in just 2 days, and most of all cursed himself for not fighting harder.

Pinked semen dribbled down his perineum, his legs. He remained utterly limp, his eyes closed, his face lifted and playfully slapped on the cheek. "You take cock well, Stormcloak. I'm sure you've had plenty of practice." He joked, doing up his pants and sitting back, removing his helmet for a drink, his ugly face sporting a grin. It was then something flashed in Ulfrics widened eyes, his anger renewed and he was bucking and thrashing like a stabbed bull, snarling and screaming behind the gag, the soldiers allowing him to pull himself up onto his knees. He knew he wasn't getting anywhere. His arms where pulled over his head, more eager bare hands tracing his body, gripping his firm chest, pulling his nipples before leather cracked against them. The pain did nothing to him, nothing settled his rage that whipped his head back and forth. Saliva seeped through the cloth gag.

It was no use. Ulfric remained held down as the second man took his ass. And then a third. His insides where filled with cum, sprayed over his hairy stomach, his limp dick being toyed with and massaged. Ulfric's beautiful eyes had been closed for the past 15 minutes, his body too exhausted to fight, his spirit slowly being broken. When the fourth man approached, the slender and tall Thalmor bastard found himself too disgusted by sharing the same hole with Nords.

A slender green hand wrapped itself around the man's jaw, lifting to see the raped man's eyes boring into his- still full of defiance and strength even if he could struggle no more. The men who'd already taken him left the tent, leaving a Redguard man pulling at his legs and the Thalmor pulling at his gag. Ulfric wanted to shout him to pieces, to bite into that scrawny throat and tear it open.

"When you're dead, I will gladly let Elenwen know of your eagerness to please me." The wet cloth dropped to the floor, Ulfric's massive inhale followed by a snarled "YOL-" ended in a pathetically long and drawn out moan, his jaw going slack and his entire body feeling limp and useless.

"Predictable. Nords are quite the stubborn race." The paralysis spell worked instantly, the blonde being flipped on his cum-splattered back and his bonds torn.

Ulfric never cursed magic so much, his arms laying limp at his sides and his legs now hooked around the neck of the Redguard soldier. Slack-jawed, his dilated greens merely stared as both men withdrew, staring at that long uncut member that bounced along his soft lips.

The Stormcloak soldiers had been watching helplessly from their bonds outside, watched their king's body bouncing back and forth between the shapes of two larger men silhouetted against the thin lighted tent cover. Ulfrics fingers could do nothing more than twitch, his eyes hooded and the only peep to come from him is the soft choking and grunts from the large man who repeatedly buried himself to the hilt inside that stretched entrance.

What could they have done? If they survived, how could they run home, ashamed to know they couldn't protect the man they revered from being fucked to death by lowly enemy guards? Only few where looking when the faintest sounds of choking and the flipping of the shadow's positions when the Altmer shot his load, filling up the Jarl's aching mouth.

And none looked when the last man finished with a tremendous growl, standing, retying his bonds and leaving the man laying on his side and incapable of movement. The Redguard left, smiled at the captives, and made his way out. The young rebel woman silently wished they'd thrown her in that tent, if she had known this would become Ulfric's fate.

Ulfric was left under the loving supervision of the Altmer man, green eyes staring at nothing, bloodshot and filled with tears from that cock down his throat and cum on his beard. There was sounds of a one sided conversation, that cool and cocky voice with nary a word from the Nord below him.

He blacked out from pain, and maybe the humiliation, but at least his dreams where empty.


	2. Escape from Hell

The sound of stomping feet, steel against steel and cries of pain where what filled the morning air in the wooded camp. The flickering of firelight danced over the Imperial tents borne from Stormcloak torches when the battalion in blue finally arrived. Their only hope was that their future king was alive, that he was with these bedraggled rebel brothers that where found hanging limp from their wooden posts.

They where alive, barely given a chance to massage the pain from their unbound wrists before they had axes in hand, frantic to escape with their lives.

None spoke when Galmar demanded the Jarls whereabouts, not Imperial or Stormcloak. The soldiers knew that if news spread of the Jarls treatment -the torture and defilement he endured- war would come quick and outrage would spur from both sides and all across Skyrim.

"Ulfric was in your company, brother, tell me is he in this camp? Where have they taken him?" Stone-fist took a prisoner by his collar, astounded by the sheer silence before with a gurgling cry an arrow pierced the captive's back. Galmar dropped the man with rage in his eyes, the skirmish falling farther away from the camp and it led the massive Nord man to aid his brothers. He'd have to find out, if the men here didn't know where he was, this was a terrible sign.

Released from his bonds, a faithful soldier who'd seen from the silhouette his Jarl's torture, knew that Ulfric remained bound in that tent. He'd be damned if his condition be made public, if more eyes saw him the way the captives had. A sword in hand and sure of discretion, the young man bolted for the tent which seemed so unassuming, untouched by flame or blade.

The elf had gone, the nord hurriedly cutting at the leather straps of the doorway. Tearing it open and slipping inside unnoticed before closing it once more, the sight before him made his body ache.

Ulfric, entirely nude and curled on his side, lay before him in the dirt. A single braid undone in his dirty hair, his mouth and hands bound tight and his eyes shut. For a moment his heart stopped, wondering if he'd indeed been raped to death.

Warily, he dropped to his knees beside him, unsure if he felt relieved by the weak rising and falling of his whipped chest. By the gods, not one part of him from his shoulders to his calves looked unscathed- he bit his lip and uncomfortably eyed the dried cum splattered along his ass and stomach.

"Jarl Ulfric... My Jarl!" he whispered intensely, a gloved hand gripping at Ulfric's icy shoulder and gave it a firm shake.

It took a few seconds, but when Ulfric's eyes flew open, all of the memories and pain rushed back into his mind and body, seeing a man staring him down with a hand on his chest.

"MMMMHHH!" Ulfric hollered, instantly thrashing in terror, oblivious to the blue cuirass the man wore. To Ulfric, freshly woken, he was just another man waiting in line and all he needed to do was fight, kick, and scream. His bound hands hit the startled soldier's wrist, refusing to listen to the man's hushed voice begging him to relax.

"My Jarl, I'm not going to hurt you! It's me!" Ulfric's panicked eyes stared the man in the face, yes he looked familiar now. "It's Jons! I was with you!" He couldnt imagine what was running through his leader's mind, his pale blue eyes sad when he noticed Ulfric relax.

Ulfric's lips where wrapped shut, glancing around the tent before (with noticeable discomfort and shame) he pushed himself to sit up, the man named Jons' hands on him again to help, his dull blade cutting at the leather bonds around his hands, his gag removed hurriedly only to show the cum that streaked his dark beard.

Before the soldier could utter a word, Ulfric's breath shook, allowed to speak for the first time and yet he couldn't find the words to thank him. "Speak nothing of what you've seen, Jons." his voice sounded so stern yet the pain was palpable "Do they know?" He received a rushed no "Your silence of what has happened here is all that I ask, brother. Not a soul will hear of this, d..do you understand?" Ulfric's voice quaked, his entire body trembling hard in the frigid air, his hands and feet so cold he could barely feel them yet still, he rubbed away at the dried filth that covered him.

How could Jons say no? "I promise you, my Jarl." He couldn't bring himself to ask him of anything, helping his leader by gathering his torn clothes, watching Ulfric-with an astoundingly stoic expression- wipe himself clean before throwing his warm garments back on himself. He struggled, and Jons' help came swiftly until his wolfskin cloak was once again around him.

Neither said anything, a tight grimace and gasp of pain passed Ulfric's abused lips as he tried to stand, his pale fingers hitting the dirt as he landed on his ass, stabbing pain shooting up and down his legs.

"Let me help you" the older Nord simply allowed himself to be pulled up, stumbling and groaning into the soldier that couldn't wrap his head around what he'd just seen.

Ulfric was left to stand there, lightheaded, as Jons peeked outside, blood on the dirt and the last bits of shouting heard downhill. Galmar was thoroughly busy plunging his axe into the collar of one of the four men to claim the Jarl last night, the body falling in a heap.

"You should wait until the- huh?" Jons watched as Ulfric stomped his way out of the tent, leaning down roughly to grasp a blade tight in his hands as he took for the battlefield. What in Talos' name was he thinking? Jons was about to chase him down, to try his hardest to protect the Jarl who briefly stood before the body of the young woman he'd tried to save last night. She was dead, an arrow through her abdomen.

The Jarl didn't seem to register what he'd just seen, Jons following him only to see what was left of the battle was a dozen Stormcloaks and Galmar with a horse in tow.

"GALMAR!" Ulfric shouted, approaching his housecarl, who looked entirely overjoyed to see Ulfric alive- he looked worse for the wear, his dark green eyes tired and bruised, his blonde hair untidy. But he was alive, and armed. "My Jarl, we had begun to fear you might have not seen our blades tear into the hearts of these Impe-"

"We need to leave this camp immediately, Galmar. Gather the dead and get the prisoners food and water." Galmar's verbose greetings cut short, he knew something serious was about but did what his Jarl commanded. Ulfric stood there, in anguish he kept hidden behind thick layers of clothing as he surveyed the piles of the dead. Before him, the Altmer mage shuddered in pain, at the thinnest line between life and death with his hazy elven eyes looking up at the man he'd taken last night.

"Sovngarde has no place for the likes of you, defiler. Wretched, soul-less Mer bastard." Ulfric let his anger slip through his gritted teeth as he, unseen, took the blade to both wrists of the Altmer man, severing his hands from his body. The weak cry that escaped his lips did nothing to settle Ulfric's blinding anger, but it will do for now.

Jons said nothing, one of 4 who lived past seeing Ulfric's debasement refusing to speak, feigning ignorance as they packed to leave. Ulfric silently pulled himself up into the saddle of an Imperial horse, eyes blank, chest cold, with nary a word spoken to Galmar as he was the first to set off on the road back to Windhelm. He wouldn't eat, he wouldn't respond beyond a simple yes or no and his loyal housecarl decided it was better not to ask what had become of his torn coat sleeves.

His tired hands came up to rebraid the tangled mess beside his ear, his eyes closing as his memory came back to last night, how he just lay there and took it one after the other. The essence of those Imperial monsters inside him, in his blood. Ulfric coughed roughly to quell the sudden tightness he felt in his throat, swallowing the lump away until the thoughts of coming home gave him some peace.


End file.
